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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24635374">A New Customer</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wightpants/pseuds/Wightpants'>Wightpants</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Babblebrook (Web Series), Goodnight Moon ASMR</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fantasy, Gen, Magic, Probably Too Long, very silly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:21:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,183</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24635374</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wightpants/pseuds/Wightpants</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Nightshade receives a visitor.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A New Customer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you to Goodnight Moon for creating the wonderful Babblebrook universe for us in her ASMR videos.</p><p>There's been lots of interruptions and it's turned out three times longer than I expected but I've finished it! I only started it about 10 months ago :o</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As the sunlight did its best to penetrate the mass of broad leafed trees, a diminutive figure picked its way slowly but steadily up the side of the darkening green valley. Pausing momentarily to take a breath, it caught a glimpse through the trees of the daunting black tower ahead. It pushed a pair of circular spectacles firmly back onto the bridge of its nose before continuing up the narrowing trail through the increasing tangle of vines and thickening canopy. Above, the rasping call of a raven briefly silenced the shrill cacophony of the forest.</p><p>*</p><p>“What are <em>you</em> doing here?”</p><p>No.</p><p>“What are you <em>doing</em> here?”</p><p>No, no.</p><p>“<em>What</em>… are you doing here?”</p><p>Yes. That was the one. That first word just hanging there, even for a fraction of a second, was enough to elicit a look of sheer terror from the eyes of most of the townsfolk – the ones that summoned up the courage to make their way as far as the apothecary, that is. She was more adept than anyone at setting her guests at unease and making them feel as comfortable as if they were in their own hell. She prided herself on doing so without recourse to shouting and screaming like some boorish cave troll or common tavern thug. There was something more effortlessly effective about a whispered threat and murmured menace which gave her such satisfaction.</p><p>Nightshade smiled. Plenty had fled over the years after that first utterance. The screamers were her favourites but mostly they just quietly fell over themselves trying to scramble back out of the door, their vocal chords seemingly petrified. More recently, one man had soiled himself right there in the doorway. He’d just stood there with his orange beard and top hat quivering until he’d recalled which muscles made his legs move and made his panic-stricken exit. She stopped smiling as she remembered she needed to take ‘the old maid’ into Harbington soon to buy a new mop.</p><p>She stepped lightly behind the large ebony workbench and placed herself elegantly in a tall leather-bound chair to await her new visitor. It was so important for one to be looking down on new visitors, she felt. In fact, she always made a point of looking down on more regular visitors too. And other acquaintances: enemies, prisoners, tradesmen, travellers, family members, royalty… quite simply everyone was there to be looked down her nose upon.</p><p>Looking down, as she was, she noticed the golden skull of her breastplate looking slightly askew. She carefully adjusted it to ensure that it was properly aligned and centred on her chest. Then she waited. It wasn’t uncommon for new visitors to hesitate on the path to the imposing front door of her tower. She looked up through the skylight to the high window on the other side of the dark granite atrium where Onwen was perched, sentry-like, on the sill. Catching her gaze, the huge raven craned his neck out of the window to observe the path below. Then, tucking himself back inside, he returned her stare, content that his earlier call, to indicate an unrecognised but unthreatening visitor, was the correct one.</p><p>Nightshade looked right and then left. Right looked good, left not so good. She perceived a distinct lack of sheen from her left shoulder piece. She twisted herself around to see if another angle might catch the light better but was disappointed. Dipping a fingernail into the top of a lighted candle, she scooped out some wax and began to massage it into two of the larger, more prominent feathers. Then, taking a small patch of mermaid silk, she was about to start buffing the wax out when there was a loud thud at the door of the tower.</p><p>It was not the sound of the huge iron door knocker which sat ostentatiously in the middle of the door and was very obviously there to be used for announcing one’s arrival. It was also not the sound of a hand knocking at the door utilised by the kind of simple townsfolk who were unfamiliar with the concept of door knockers, no matter how ostentatious they might be. Whatever it was, someone, or something, was clearly outside.</p><p>Nightshade slowly turned her right palm toward the door, furrowed her brow and uttered a few short ancient words. Following an incident which had left her with a black eye (more so than usual) and a very nearly broken nose, she had been forced to oil the upper hinges of the door recently to ensure it would indeed open properly now. The lower hinges however had not been oiled for several years and it was they who now produced a wonderfully charismatic groan as the huge oak door slowly and theatrically swung open.</p><p>A few valiant rays of sunlight broke through the mass of vines outside to scatter timidly on the floor as if daring each other to cross the threshold. There was no sign of any visitor. Nightshade watched and listened keenly for a moment before shooting another enquiring glance toward Onwen, who dutifully poked his head outside to survey the scene.</p><p>Onwen prided himself on his proficiency at delivering messages. He was as swift as an arrow and had dodged many of them in his time to secure the vital correspondence of his mistress in the face of great danger and hostility. His personal communication skills, however, left a lot to be desired and his efforts to convey what he saw were confined to a simple and thoroughly unhelpful cock of the head.</p><p>Nightshade let out a small breath of frustration, tossed the patch of silk onto the workbench and stood gracefully before heading for the open door. Usually she was loath to go to her guests to receive them, though she was well aware of the imposing impression her figure could create silhouetted in the doorway. Approaching the entrance, she fastened two buttons at the midriff of her cloak to help accentuate the breadth of her shoulders. She paused. Onwen had a keen eye for danger and was not one to be easily outwitted by the Queensguard, but these were strange and dangerous times and one was not to be too careless. She stepped precisely into the doorway and stretched out her arms to span the ample width of the frame. Cautiously, she leaned her head forward.</p><p>“<em>What</em>… the… ?”</p><p>A hand came first, fingers outstretched, followed by the rest of the glistening red apparition which came barrelling through the doorway and crashed into Nightshade, sending her stumbling back, before it slumped against her chest and slid down to the floor.</p><p>Nightshade felt her heart beat twice before recovering herself to examine the startling figure which now lay below her, breathing hard: a young woman. Her skin not itself red, but merely slick with fresh blood. Her hair, where it was not also bloodied, a shock of orange curls. A large pair of round eyeglasses covered a fair portion of her face. She wore a dark olive canvas outfit which, had it had full length legs and sleeves, might have protected her better from the crawling crimsons. As it was, she was covered in a multitude of their tell-tale cuts and lesions. Nightshade was used to visitors arriving with a few scrapes but she’d never seen anyone this bad before. Her ointments could heal up a few cosmetic cuts but even Harbington’s legendary haberdasher would probably have trouble stitching up some of these wounds.</p><p>“Theodore!” the woman called, stretching out a hand to the heavens. “Ara, narana. Gh, durmenuh… SHOES!” she insisted, her legs flailing helplessly on the floor.</p><p>Nightshade knelt down, pulled a handkerchief from her tunic and wiped away some of the blood from the stricken woman’s forehead. She gasped. She was familiar with the pale complexion that many of the redheaded townsfolk possessed but this girl was positively translucent – she’d evidently lost quite a bit of blood.</p><p>As more blood oozed from a deep wound on the woman’s scalp, Nightshade was struck with a sense of genuine concern. After all, murdering one’s own customers would be awful for business and the last thing she needed was to give the Queensguard more reason to come for her in force.</p><p>“Egg. Not egg. Rock. Not rock. Egg. Rock. Egg. ROCK!” the woman chanted deliriously, her legs pumping up and down against the flagstones.</p><p>Nightshade placed her left hand on her patient’s chest and pushed her firmly down against the floor, eliciting a wheezy breath. She closed her eyes and quietly began to recite a peculiar incantation – a powerful revitalising spell. As she concluded, the woman began to breathe more steadily and her wounds visibly began to diminish. She used the handkerchief to wipe some more blood from her face. Her flesh, if not exactly pink, was at least beginning to look a little more opaque.</p><p>“My eyes! They took my eyes. Oh my beloved Theodore, will I never see you again?” the woman asked with a wistful sigh. She seemed more coherent, if no less confusing, than she had a few moments ago.</p><p>“Your lenses are covered in blood,” said Nightshade, with a flicker of irritation, as she plucked the offending spectacles from the woman’s face and vigorously rubbed them clean.</p><p>“I see a light! And there’s a voice! I’m moving towards them – I’m ready…” the woman began to sit up, just as Nightshade thrust her newly cleaned glasses back toward her, clamping them firmly on the bridge of her nose. “Oh,” she gasped in surprise. She looked at Nightshade, crouched over her, and at her surroundings and finally back to Nightshade as her eyes began to focus. “Oh,” she said in dawning comprehension.</p><p>Nightshade fancied she could hear gears turning and see lights flickering on as cognition returned.</p><p>“I’m Maybell,” said the young woman, propping herself up with one elbow and clasping her opposite hand to her chest. “You must be The Nightshade Witch. It’s so wonderful to meet you!” she beamed.</p><p>This was not how introductions were done here. This would not do. This would not do at all. Pulling herself upright, Nightshade stood over Maybell and placed her hands on her hips. A slight gust of wind (which, if she was being honest, Nightshade had conjured up herself) blew her cape dramatically around her, casting macabre shadows around the walls and alcoves of the tower. She fixed Maybell with a steely glare. “<em>What</em>… a…”</p><p>“I SAID ‘I’M MAYBELL. IT’S SO WONDERFUL TO MEET YOU,” Maybell pronounced helpfully.</p><p>Nightshade’s jaw clamped shut as the words echoed through the open atrium and up the steep walls of the dark tower. She followed the sounds with her eyes and waited for them to fade to stillness. Far above, a nesting bird took flight with a startled squawk. She looked back down and leaned over slightly. “Listen to me, Maybell,” she said slowly, pronouncing her name deliberately, as if to exert some kind of dominion over it. “I trained in the Penrithe Forest, tracking pixies in the pitch dark every night for three years. I can eavesdrop on conversations through castle walls ten feet thick. There is nothing wrong with my hearing. There is never… any cause… to raise your voice… to me.”</p><p>“Oh,” said Maybell, suddenly leaping to her feet, “that’s like my Uncle Calder. He could hear the meadlings living under the floor, even though nobody else could hear them, and used to go after them with a pickaxe, he’d get so worked up about them, thrashing about in a frenzy, us little ones loved it, we thought it was hilarious, and Auntie Maida would be sitting there with the tears rolling down her cheeks, though now I come to think of it she didn’t seem to be laughing, but it was such a sight, he dug up the whole floor so that there was nowhere left to sit in the living room, or the ‘digging’ room as we called it, haha, and he ended up digging so deep that he had to use this huge pair of ladders to climb out each evening, that was before he lost his leg of course, but Uncle Eldridge said that was bound to happen eventually when you’ve been swinging a pickaxe all day and your arms get tired and you’re at the bottom of this great dark hole and he wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up with it stuck in his head and at least that would give Auntie Maida some peace, but after that he started digging sideways and getting Mr Quillwort from over the road to hoist him out each evening, and we thought he was digging sideways because of his leg but it was just easier that way because it turned out the rock was softer there because it had gold in it and when they extracted it all there was enough to buy a new house for Auntie Maida, and to pay for someone to look after Uncle Calder in a special home, not because of his leg but because it turned out he did have something wrong with his head, but not because he’d hit it with the pickaxe or anything, and anyway he wouldn’t have been able to get up the stairs at the lovely new house Auntie Maida bought, not with his leg, and I bet he’d never have made it up that path outside here either, it’s so steep in some places, and those vines, oh my, those things are dangerous, what are they, they should come with a warning sign.”</p><p>Nightshade gawped. She sensed this was a valuable opportunity to say something pertinent but, as nothing was forthcoming just yet, she simply stopped gawping. Looking into Maybell’s wide staring eyes, she made a mental note that, no matter how much blood someone had lost, she was not to use such a powerful revitalising spell on someone who was still kicking and screaming.</p><p>“Crawling crimsons,” she said eventually. “That’s what you’ve had a run-in with outside – and came off decidedly second best, it seems.” She looked Maybell up and down before handing her the handkerchief. “Most people manage to pull themselves away with the minimum of injury.”</p><p>“Hmm, I think I may have taken the wrong tack with those,” said Maybell, ponderously raising the handkerchief to her face and beginning to clean off the remaining blood.</p><p>“You didn’t try to engage them in conversation by any chance, did you?” asked Nightshade with a sneer.</p><p>“No, no. I got snagged on a couple of thorns and I thought, if I struggled, I might make it worse. So I tried to, erm, go with the flow and ended up in, ah, a bit of a tangle,” Maybell smiled bashfully.</p><p>“Indeed,” said Nightshade. “What are you doing here?” she spat out, determined not to be interrupted again.</p><p>“I’m cleaning my face with this handkerchief you gave me.”</p><p>“Why did you come to my tower? What do you want from me?” asked Nightshade, glaring at the rosy cheeked, freckled face which was revealed now before her.</p><p>“Oh, right!” said Maybell, rolling her eyes up in thought.</p><p>Nightshade got the impression she might be looking for her brain up in there and was about to wish her luck in this endeavour but decided against saying anything. She had no desire to draw out this encounter any longer than it already threatened to be.</p><p>“A potion. A shamble potion is what I need,” said Maybell, sweeping a triumphant finger through the air.</p><p>Nightshade raised an eyebrow (and even a hint of a smile). Despite her bumbling innocent appearance, this one clearly had a dark side. A shamble potion was a devious, perhaps even cruel, form of punishment to mete out to one’s enemies. Taking effect gradually, it will cause its victim’s brain to diminish in speed and function, sometimes to the point that they are unable to perform simple tasks or even remember who they themselves are. The effects, of course, would wear off, just as slowly as they came on. The victim though would be left to pick up the pieces: apologising for the hurt and trouble they had caused to those around them; rebuilding their houses which they had burned down after forgetting to put the stove out; worrying in case the mysterious bout of incapacity might return at any moment to turn their lives upside down yet again.</p><p>With a new found sense of respect for her visitor, Nightshade turned and walked toward the apothecary with a beckoning finger outstretched behind her. “Come,” she said.</p><p>Maybell followed her through the tall stone doorway into the high ceilinged chamber. The walls were lined with row upon row of tottering wooden shelves all teeming with an abundance of packets, pots and glass stoppered jars. Maybell craned her neck to look at the upper rows of ingredients. The higher the shelves, the more they seemed to protrude and overhang. This gave the impression that the mere height of the shelves created this daunting optical illusion. In fact, the shelves actually did protrude and overhang in order to create an enhanced impression of height (an architectural double-bluff of which Nightshade was particularly proud). As Nightshade made her way to the baroque high backed chair, she motioned Maybell toward a smaller chair at the other side of the workbench. Looking down just in time to avoid a collision with the bench, Maybell duly sat herself opposite Nightshade and stuffed the bloodsoaked handkerchief into a sturdy granite bowl on the bench.</p><p>“That,” said Nightshade, springing out of her seat to grab the bowl and remove the offending rag, “is my mortar!” She plucked the handkerchief out with two stiletto-like fingernails before carefully inspecting the bowl. “I will be hard pressed to grind your ingredients if it is thick with blood! Here, you can keep this,” she continued, holding the handkerchief out to Maybell.</p><p>“Really? For me? Oh, that is so generous of you,” said Maybell, taking the handkerchief as delicately as if it were a floffin and placing it carefully into a trouser pocket.</p><p>“Don’t mention it,” said Nightshade through strained lips, “really.” As she reached across the bench to fetch a small bottle, Maybell did likewise, plucking a large canine skull from its proud position on a small wooden chest.</p><p>“Ooh, is this a direwolf?” asked Maybell, turning the skull over in her hands and inspecting it carefully.</p><p>“It was,” replied Nightshade, retrieving a bronze nozzle and atomizer pump from the other end of the bench.</p><p>“How did it die?” enquired Maybell as she peered into the open end at the back of the skull.</p><p>Nightshade carefully began to screw the atomizer onto the top of the crystal container. “It died by failing to show adequate respect for a black witch in her domain,” she said sharply, looking up at Maybell.</p><p>Maybell frowned at the top of the skull. “Looks like an axe wound to me,” she said with a shrug before placing it back on its spot.</p><p>“Of course,” replied Nightshade, fixing Maybell with an unrelenting glare. “This,” she continued, as she rose steadily from her chair with the small bottle in one hand and the pump in the other and advanced on Maybell, “should provide a solution to our little problem.” She swung the bottle round to face the nozzle toward Maybell and, with a swift squeeze, sent a fine cloud of spray about her head and shoulders.</p><p>Maybell flinched, blinking. “Is that…?” she ventured.</p><p>“…to keep the Crawling Crimsons at bay,” Nightshade finished helpfully. “Blood and corpses make for fascinating garden ornament in my opinion,” she said. She gazed wistfully into the middle distance before frowning, “Unfortunately not an opinion shared by gossiping townsfolk or the Queensguard.” She placed the bottle carefully at the corner of the bench and turned to stare up at the curved wall of jars before her. She had a good memory for the ingredients in her inventory but every now and then she liked to, literally, take stock of some of the lesser used agents in her possession. She looked up thoughtfully at the higher shelves. “Crushed Larkmite,” she said quietly to herself.</p><p>“Pfft.”</p><p>Nightshade increased her focus on the upper reaches of the apothecary stores. “Glowmoth Silk,” she murmured.</p><p>“Pfft.”</p><p>Nightshade singled out a stoppered jar on the highest shelf and glared at it with a level of intensity which left the jar entirely unable to decide if it should hang on for all it was worth or simply throw itself to the ground to put a swift end to it all. “Dried Sporelings’ Feet,” she growled. The jar began to shake. It rocked and wobbled, making its way closer to the edge of the teetering wooden shelf.</p><p>“Pfft, pfft.”</p><p>Nightshade spun around and strode back across to Maybell as the jar slumped to a relieved standstill at the edge of the shelf. “That,” she said, as she snatched the bottle from Maybell’s hands, “is a very potent herbicide.” She thumped the bottle back down on the bench. “One spray is quite enough,” she said before returning to her chair and taking in a measured breath. “Onwen!” she called without looking up.</p><p>A ‘whump’ indicated the unfolding of a sizeable pair of wings and, a moment later, Onwen glided into the apothecary through one of the skylights. He circled the upper reaches of the chamber majestically.</p><p>“Oh!” Maybell gasped, clutching a hand to her chest in delight and craning her neck to stare at one of the largest ravens she had ever seen.</p><p>“Larkmite. Glowmoth. Sporeling,” Nightshade said sharply.</p><p>With one flap of his wings, Onwen propelled himself to the site of the, now precariously placed, jar of sporelings’ feet and grasped it in one of his large gnarly claws.</p><p>“Who is this?” asked Maybell, transfixed, as Onwen hovered sturdily in front of the second jar on his mistress’ list of procurements.</p><p>“That,” said Nightshade, tilting her head to grasp this prime opportunity to look down her nose, “is Onwen. Scourge of the Skies of Penrithe. He once plucked a Queensguard’s eyeballs clean from his skull,” she continued, leaning forward conspiratorially as Onwen gathered the last of the ingredients and placed them with uncanny grace on the bench in front of his mistress, “rather than let him read a word of my private messages.”</p><p>With a minor flurry, Onwen hopped from the bench to a tall perch behind Maybell’s seat.</p><p>“He’s adorable!” breathed Maybell as she twisted around to gaze at this newfound object of her zoological affections.</p><p>Nightshade frowned briefly at Maybell, wondering if she would soon have more blood to clean up, before turning her attentions to the ingredients on her desk. She took one look at the sticky mess inside her granite mortar bowl before reaching into a drawer and pulling out a smaller, more delicate looking, ceramic bowl. She took one sporeling’s foot and popped it into the bowl along with the last of the glowmoth silk and a liberal helping of larkmite. She picked up an ornate handled pestle from the desk and set about grinding the ingredients to the fine powder required to produce the best quality potion. As she worked away, an unfamiliar cooing noise almost caused her to look up. Determining it to be emanating from Maybell’s direction, she resolved to steadfastly ignore it and focus more intently on her work. She pressed hard, feeling the sporeling’s foot crunch and crumble under the force. The cooing noise came again. Nightshade pressed and twisted, the fibres of the glowmoth silk tearing under the strain. Again, the cooing noise, this time followed by the distinctive flap of a large pair of wings. Nightshade’s knuckles turned white as she worked the pestle. Every nerve in her body wanted her to look up but she fought her instincts, determined to get this job over and done with without further distraction. Treacherously, in a moment of utterly selfish betrayal, her eyes decided they were going to play by their own rules and have a quick glance up. Then they looked back down. They did it so quickly they were sure there was no way Nightshade could have taken in the scene of Maybell cradling Onwen in her arms, stroking the nape of his neck as he purred away like a well fed housecat. They were wrong. There was a sudden crack and a loud bang as the mortar bowl shattered into several large pieces and the pestle thumped into the bench.</p><p>“Whoops-a-daisy!” said Maybell happily.</p><p>Nightshade stared down at the mess on the bench in front of her. To escape the distressing sight (and avoid any others) she thought it safest to close her eyes for a few seconds. She breathed in slowly, feeling the air filling her lungs. Then, she slowly breathed out. She tried to draw some calm from the silence of the room but was unduly hampered by the sound of a raven purring. “That,” she said, opening her eyes to the remnants of her work, “is the last of the glowmoth silk. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to harvest even the smallest amount of glowmoth silk?”</p><p>“Oh dear. Well couldn’t you just give me some of that ready-made stuff you’ve got up there?” said Maybell turning to point at the wall behind her.</p><p>“What?” said Nightshade, reluctantly raising her head. She followed Maybell’s finger to a lower shelf carrying some of the more common herbs and spices, where she saw the source of the confusion. “Bramble potion,” she said, enunciating the ‘b’ and rolling the ‘r’ to emphasise the point.</p><p>“Yes,” Maybell smiled at Nightshade, “bramble potion. That’s what I want.” She frowned suddenly, “Why? What did I say?”</p><p>“Shamble potion,” said Nightshade, this time emphasising the ‘sh’ to such an extent that several crystal goblets dotted around the room began to ring.</p><p>“Shamble potion? Oh no. Imagine getting all forgetful and scatter-brained,” said Maybell, aghast. “That would be dreadful.”</p><p>Nightshade fixed Maybell with the kind of glare that would make an ogre cry. “Yes. That would be unberable,” she whispered.</p><p>“No, it’s just a bramble potion I need,” said Maybell amicably.</p><p>“Right,” said Nightshade. She furrowed her brow. “So, you trekked all this way? Here? Through the forest? For some… glorified plant food?”</p><p>“Yes, well,” said Maybell with a shrug, “I need to grow a lot to feed all the animals I have and the herbologist is away for a few weeks and it seemed like a nice day for a walk and I’ve always wanted to come here, I’ve heard so much about you and I just thought it would be… nice. You know?”</p><p>“Nice?” Nightshade thought back through the centuries to when the word ‘nice’ actually meant a stupid person. She wondered just how long ago the meaning had changed and if maybe this Maybell had something to do with it. “On…” she began, before stopping herself with the most cursory glance toward the cosy bundle of feathers in Maybell’s lap. “Second thoughts,” she resumed, “I’ll get it myself.” The jar was on a shelf which would be easily reachable from the rolling ladders, especially for a young and nimble witch such as herself. With the goods ready-made, they would need only to sort out payment and Maybell could be on her way, leaving Nightshade to salvage what remained of the day.</p><p>She arose, elegantly swept across the room to the ladders and deftly skipped onto them with just the right amount of momentum to send them curving smoothly toward the jar in question. The ladders slowed as she reached her goal. She clasped a set of dextrous fingers around the jar at just the same moment that the ladders rolled over the bottom of her cape, yanking her fiercely toward the ground. Not willing to have her inertia ruined by something as silly as a ladder, she shot out her free hand, grabbed firmly hold of the shelf and promptly brought the whole lot down on herself.</p><p>Nightshade hit the ground with a thoroughly inelegant thump which knocked the wind right out of her. A dozen or so jars smashed down around her sending a cloud of herbs and spices billowing out and engulfing her. She pounded the ground with her fist in an instinctive attempt to remind her lungs how to work. Much to her surprise, this actually seemed to work. She took in a large breath and instantly regretted it. Keeping the bramble potion safely in one hand, she quickly set off on all fours toward the other side of the room to escape the cloud as she tried to remember exactly which ingredients she had just coated her throat and airways with.</p><p>Basil.</p><p>Hazelmint.</p><p>Nutmeg.</p><p>Falkirke Chilli Powder.</p><p>She congratulated herself on remembering which it was that was most worrying her and then began to retch violently. Her eyes bulged, her face burned and her neck strained. A puddle of drool began to form on the floor beneath her nose and mouth as her whole body heaved uncontrollably.</p><p>After a few minutes, the distress began to subside and she relaxed a little, allowing her face to rest on the blissfully cool flagstones of the apothecary floor. She’d never have thought it before but face down on the floor with her backside in the air could provide a real oasis of peace and serenity.</p><p>“Oh dear,” said a voice.</p><p>Without removing her cheek from the floor, Nightshade managed to twist around to see Maybell standing over her with a look of concern etched on her face.</p><p>“Let me help you,” said Maybell taking a step forward.</p><p>Nightshade instinctively flipped around and shuffled back as Maybell plucked the bloodied handkerchief from her pocket and advanced on her.</p><p>“Oh my, you’ve been crying,” Maybell said as she stepped forward again. As she did so, she found a relatively clean looking patch of handkerchief, licked it, and held out towards Nightshade’s face.</p><p>“I have <em>not</em> been crying,” said Nightshade, scurrying further away from Maybell indignantly.</p><p> “But, your mascara…?”</p><p>“That,” said Nightshade through gritted teeth, “is entirely intentional. These streaks represent the agony and sorrow of the spirits trapped in the purgatory of the underworld with whom I consort.</p><p>“Aww,” said Maybell dropping her outstretched arm and softening her stance, “that’s lovely that you take time out to talk to those poor people. It must get ever so lonely and boring down there. I’m sure they must be very grateful to you.”</p><p>“Not the ones I put down there, they’re not!” Nightshade said, again through gritted teeth as she hauled herself upright.</p><p>“Is that wax?” asked Maybell, tilting her head to one side.</p><p>Nightshade followed her gaze to her own left shoulder. The candle wax she had meant to buff out had congealed into large blobs on the end of two of the longer feathers of her shoulder piece, causing them to droop unceremoniously down her chest. A small breath hissed out between her teeth. She was having an inordinately difficult time remembering how to relax the muscles in her jaw. She mentally scanned the rest of her body to find that it was similarly tense. She looked down at her left hand to see what was causing a particular sense of discomfort there to find that it was tightly wrapped around the jar containing the bramble potion. A small wave of relief loosened her limbs somewhat. “Here,” she said, holding the jar triumphantly in front of her, turning it in her clawed hand so that the label faced toward Maybell. “Bramble potion. That’s what you want? Yes?” she asked expectantly.</p><p>“Er, yes. Yes,” smiled Maybell happily.</p><p>“Good. Well here it is, so you can pay for it and then you can leave,” said Nightshade, returning Maybell’s smile.</p><p>“Er… yes,” replied Maybell. She looked at the damp, bloodstained handkerchief in her hand. She looked questioningly at the workbench by her right hand side, then briefly at Nightshade, before pushing the handkerchief back into the trouser pocket she had taken it from. She looked thoughtfully down at her toes and bit her lip. Suddenly her eyebrows and index finger shot up as if to identify the source of some divine inspiration. She put her right hand into her left breast pocket and pulled out nothing. She put both hands into her back pockets and pulled out nothing. Undeterred, she put both hands into her front trouser pockets and pulled out an acorn; a snapped shoelace with multiple, large, clumsy knots tied in it; and the handkerchief.</p><p>Nightshade was only dimly aware of Maybell repeating this procedure several times, focussing, as she was, on counting her breaths. She’d counted two so far, which, for a witch, was borderline hyperventilation. She sensed that Maybell had concluded her performance and looked up to find her fidgeting apologetically.</p><p>“Er…,” started Maybell, looking anxiously into the various dark corners of the room before beaming a toothy grin at Nightshade, “I seem to have left my monies at home. Whoops.”</p><p>Nightshade stared unblinkingly at Maybell.</p><p>“But don’t worry,” Maybell insisted with a sturdy forefinger, “I will come back tomorrow.”</p><p>“No!”</p><p>“I guarantee it,” said Maybell. She took a step forward, raised her right hand in front of her face and said the word ‘put’ at it before clamping it firmly around Nightshade’s right hand. “Spit and shake on it,” she announced, shaking Nightshade’s hand with undoubtable sincerity and conviction.</p><p>Nightshade felt something warm and clammy oozing through the lace of her fingerless glove and looked down in horror at their entwined hands.</p><p>Spotting the look on Nightshade’s face, Maybell made a little grimace of her own. “Ah. You don’t do that round here either, I guess,” she said. She retracted her hand from Nightshade’s, though the two remained linked for several seconds by a long loop of translucent goo. She reached into her trouser pocket and pulled out the handkerchief, offering it to Nightshade.</p><p>Nightshade looked from her bespoiled hand to the handkerchief and then down to the potion in her left hand.</p><p>Spotting the impasse, Maybell put the handkerchief back in her pocket and delicately took the bramble potion from Nightshade before placing that carefully into the same pocket. A few seconds passed before she took the potion back out of her pocket in order to retrieve the handkerchief and pass it to Nightshade.</p><p>Nightshade looked at the bloodied rag for a moment before reluctantly finding a cleanish-looking spot and forlornly dabbing it at the damp patch on her palm. She looked at the blood on the handkerchief. It was mostly dry but she was sure she could still squeeze a few drops from it. The words of a thousand curses began to race through her head. She felt a little bit of composure returning and forced herself to focus on the here and now.</p><p>“Well anyway, I will be back tomorrow, I never forget to pay my debts, except for when I do, and I explained all this to that bailiff, that was just a misunderstanding, and…”</p><p>“No,” insisted Nightshade. “Special offer. Today only. New customers – one free potion,” she announced. “That’s all yours. You can take that and you never have to come back,” she said with a smile, “ever again.”</p><p>“Oh my, that is <em>so</em> generous of you!”</p><p>“Oh no, don’t mention it,” said Nightshade, working hard to maintain the smile, “ever again.” She turned and began walking toward the apothecary door. “Anyway,” she said in, what was for her, a positively cheerful tone, “the exit.” She opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.</p><p>“Pfft.”</p><p>“The exit is located, quite helpfully, in the same place as the entrance,” Nightshade continued, striding toward the main door.</p><p>“Pfft.”</p><p>“Though maybe you don’t remember that…”</p><p>“Pffft.”</p><p>Nightshade turned on her heel and sprinted back into the apothecary, snatching the herbicide from Maybell. “Put that DOWN!” she yelled, slamming the bottle on the bench. As she rounded on Maybell, the room darkened. The flames on the candles dimmed to imperceptibly tiny specks of light. A low rumbling growl, at the very edge of human hearing, began to fill the room. She looked down at a trembling Maybell. Then she caught herself. The light returned to the room and the insidious growl died away.</p><p>“I shouldn’t have shouted like that,” said Nightshade softly looking down at the floor, her voice full of regret.</p><p>Worry turned to concern on Maybell’s face. “Oh, you don’t need to apologise,” she said, shaking her head.</p><p>“I wasn’t,” said Nightshade, her face twisted in confusion.</p><p>“This is all my fault.”</p><p>“Yes, I know,” said Nightshade incredulously. It was obvious, however, that Maybell was not listening.</p><p>“I’ve came in here getting blood all over the place. I’ve wasted your time and ingredients on a potion I didn’t need...”</p><p>“Yes, I know,” muttered Nightshade as Maybell continued unabated.</p><p>“You’ve ended up with all kinds of things broken and the place in a right mess.”</p><p>Nightshade nodded.</p><p>“And…” began Maybell before hesitating. “And… well…” she began again, looking guiltily up at Nightshade, “I think I might have made another terrible mistake.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Well… oh, you know? It’s not important. I’ve troubled you enough.”</p><p>“What?” asked Nightshade, her eyes boring into Maybell’s.</p><p>“Well, it’s just that I’ve been thinking…”</p><p>Nightshade raised an eyebrow.</p><p>“And, just, you know, now I come to think of it…”, Maybell hesitated, looking down and fidgeting incessantly with her fingertips.</p><p>“What is it?” insisted Nightshade.</p><p>“Well, I was thinking, and, you know… Uncle Calder never did find any meadlings.”</p><p>Nightshade’s brain did a somersault. Her legs, perhaps in sympathy, staggered back a step.</p><p>“Anyway, at the end of it all, you’re giving me this for free,” said Maybell staunchly. “Well, I’m going to go now,” she said turning to walk through to the main entrance.</p><p>“Yes?” gasped Nightshade.</p><p>“And I’m gonna tell everyone what a kind and generous person you are,” Maybell said with unwavering conviction.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Do you know,” Maybell turned to Nightshade as she reached the huge main door, “some of my friends are so stupid?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“They think you’re this big old mean witch who goes around cursing everyone and they’re so scared of you,” said Maybell shaking her head in disbelief. “Wait ‘til I tell them how lovely you really are,” she said before leaning forward conspiratorially. “You’re going to be getting a lot of new customers from now on I think.”</p><p>“Wait,” said Nightshade, her eyes widening as she worked to process this new information, “you mean… you’re going to encourage your friends… who you consider to be stupider than you… to come here?”</p><p>“Yes, but not just my friends. There’s a whole town full of them back there. They’ll never be away from this place once I’ve spoken to them,” said Maybell affably. “Well, it’s been wonderful doing business with you. See you next time,” she called as she turned and skipped out of the doorway and gambolled happily down the path.</p><p>“Next time,” said Nightshade to herself, watching Maybell’s retreat with a strange mixture of relief and terror.</p><p>As she watched, a curious vine from the crawling crimsons, which formed a tunnel over the path, snaked out toward Maybell. It got within a couple of inches of her exposed neck when it suddenly stopped. There was a slight pause before it shot off in the opposite direction with such speed and violence that it caused an audible ‘crack’. Other vines began to follow suit in a desperate attempt to get away from the toxic figure of Maybell. A high pitched squealing noise began to rise as the walls of crawling crimsons gradually collapsed in a heap of blackening vegetation and boiling, poisonous, sap.</p><p>Nightshade hurriedly pushed the huge door shut, partly to block out the unfolding, or rather folding, horror on her doorstep and, partly, for fear that Maybell might return for some unfathomable reason. The latch of the door fell shut with a deep, resonating clunk. Nightshade slid slowly down to the floor. She tried to imagine it. Dozens, even hundreds, of Maybells. Every day. Queueing up to place their confused orders. Words spilling out of their mouths in incomplete thoughts, incoherent sentences and incomprehensible stories.</p><p>She’d once spent four years in bed in a pique of resentment after she discovered that a younger trainee witch had produced a notably more powerful curse than she had managed herself. In the intervening centuries, she had come to think that maybe this could have been a slightly petty overreaction and an unproductive use of her time. Now, the memories of those years seemed steeped in a golden aura of nostalgia calling out to be relived. It could also provide ample time to conduct a thorough review of her ‘non-murdering of customers’ policy.</p><p>No. This was silly. The townsfolk wouldn’t trust news of the Nightshade Witch suddenly becoming nice and friendly, would they? They’d probably just think Maybell was spellbound or hypnotised or something. Probably.</p><p>She needn’t leave it to chance though. A few messages in the right places would have the town gossips spreading the word. Scaring everyone with their tales of that ungodly murderous hag up in the mountains and how she was placing spells on innocent people to tempt them up to her tower to do the devil’s work. When Maybell turned up later, her stories and behaviour would simply confirm their suspicions.</p><p>“Onwen!” Nightshade called as she picked herself up and strode purposefully back to the apothecary. She looked up to the high outer window where Onwen so often kept vigil. He wasn’t there. She flung open the apothecary door to the chaotic aftermath of Maybell’s visit. Onwen was not on his perch but was snugly ensconced in the folds of the comfortable chair where Maybell had left him. “Onwen!” she called again.</p><p>Onwen the Arrow, Bane of the Queensguard, Scourge of the Skies of Penrithe, blinked lazily back at her through a haze of contentment and ground nutmeg.</p><p>“Uurghhh!” Nightshade growled, leaning her head back. A furious energy filled her. She turned out of the apothecary and within two bounds was at the main staircase. She took the stairs two and three at a time. Her thighs burned as they propelled her faster and faster towards the apex of the tower.</p><p>*</p><p>As the sun dipped down behind the clouds gathering at the horizon, a diminutive figure danced lightly down the vague path of the valley. It stopped briefly to secure its eyeglasses on its face and check its bearings before setting off widdershins once more. In its wake, the grass shrivelled and died, ferns withered and collapsed and the spring saplings shed their leaves as if it were autumn. A great oak tree, unbowed for centuries, leaned distinctly out of the way as the figure approached. The gathering prelude to the evensong of the forest was suddenly shattered by the piercing wail of a tortured soul that rushed out from the black tower, cascaded down the valley and shook what remained of the leaves on the trees.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I may or may not have been reading a lot of Douglas Adams lately, which may or may not have had an influence here.</p><p>The idea for the story came from a live stream (I think) when someone asked if Maybell and Nightshade would get along. Erin suggested that Maybell would love Nightshade but Nightshade would hate Maybell. I couldn't help but think how Maybell would wind her up.</p><p>I am grateful for any feedback or suggestions. Thanks for reading.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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